The mountain is quiet, the moon is quiet,
The flowers pursed their lips. ……
Suddenly, the grassland fell backwards,
Larks whistle in the sky,
The yurt waved a blue handkerchief,
Girls, I'm sorry,
Into the arms of the dawn.
Five screaming horses,
Five passing meteors;
Leave the moon and stars,
Stretch out your hand and pull five long winds,
Youth on the grassland are flying on horseback.
Running with a smile,
Jump, chase.
Sunglow threw it at them,
Gorgeous bouquets,
Passionate poetry.
The girls rested for five minutes,
Elegant hada
Dedicated to the green valley in my hometown,
Streams, hillsides, grasslands ...
Ah, a bright morning on the grassland!
(2)
In the days of aiding Tibet,
I accepted the white Hada.
The first, the second,
Third, fourth ...
The students at the back, in turn,
Give me hada,
Here's to wine and gifts.
Hanging strips,
White hada,
Water cup,
Fragrant wine,
One by one,
Beautiful gift,
My heart is surging,
Sigh sigh:
When and where,
I got this,
Waiting for emotion? What he can do,
I deserve this honor?
Aid Tibet for five years,
I'm just so tired,
A Tibetan aid teacher,
Duties and obligations!
So, wine is accompanied by tears.
Touched by guilt,
Happiness is accompanied by pain,
I got dressed and drank wine.
Take over,
One by one,
Cup after cup,
One thing after another. ...
I still remember,
I still have a hard chest,
Tears for you.
Those forty-four articles,
White and flawless hada,
It's obviously 44,
A pure and sincere heart,
They said that Tibetan students,
For a Han teacher,
Sincere feelings,
Tell me about my aid to Tibet in the past two years,
Every effort,
Every footprint
(3)
Many times when I was sleeping,
Traces of white Hada dancing.
Under the male peak of the roof of the world,
That sacred and vast land,
It has become the pursuit of my soul.
Always think like this:
Where there is white Hada dancing,
It is the source of the birth of the blessing.
I love Tibet, a sacred land,
Love the hard work and simplicity of Tibetan compatriots.
I also like living in,
Under the harsh weather conditions on the plateau,
A magical and immortal life.
Late at night, the white Hada in my dream,
One is still in Tibetan areas,
Dancing on the withered old tree.
White, in the squall of Tibet,
Dancing all the time